The Dying of the Light
by Merlin Missy
Summary: This is death.  For the Metamorphosis Titles Rewrite Challenge.


The Dying of the Light  
a Gargoyles story  
by Merlin Missy  
Copyright 2005  
PG

Officially for the Metamorphosis Titles Rewrite Challenge. But really, mostly for me. DC / Buena Vista own the characters but you knew that already. Deep thanks to **Cadhla** for the beta.

* * *

This is death.

It is in the way that they whisper when they believe he cannot hear: low and sad and sibilant like autumn wind moaning through reeds.

David remembers the wind, mournful in October across the grey Atlantic, whipping salt to sting his face and eyes. He remembers springtimes, too, when winter carved fingernails in the land until almost mid-May and then, with a tumult of garish glad colors and earthy scents, life rushed back into the world and laughed out loud among wildflowers.

This is death. Death is waiting in clammy darkness among the rich dressings of his bedroom, cut off from winter in the city below them. No more springs await him now.

Alexander is the Summer King, on the Isle that is both his home and half-year mistress now that it once again is bound to the World's years. He rules lightly and fairly and wears a crown of oak leaves and his eyes are wild. For the moment he is in the castle because the Equinox has yet to come and whisk him away. He stands outside the door, where David cannot see him but can hear the soft music of his voice, joined by Goliath's deep rumble.

He can't hear Fox. She is ... She has ...

"Avalon" he breathes into his room. His tomb. Room tomb, room tomb, like a drummer's beat or a child's rhyme. His child is a man and his wife is gone to see the Winter King.

There are no mirrors in his room anymore. He asked Fox to take them down when his hair started to fall out. He can see his wasted flesh in her eyes enough to know there is no hope. Not all the money in the world will grant him more life, and those who love him most understand that magically-granted immortality would destroy him as much as the cancer eating his stomach away.

"Hey, Dad," says Alex, coming into the room. Everything is dark, so dark, because the lights hurt his eyes. Alex's wide blue eyes dilate instantly to the darkness, and David sees him as he was when he was a baby.

"Hey," David's voice cracks. Alex sits on the bed beside him. "What was that about?"

"Nothing."

"Alex."

"Goliath was going over tonight's patrol schedule. The hatchlings are going to be allowed out, and they're coordinating watches."

David smiles. For all he did against the clan when they first awakened, he cannot help but feel also responsible for helping their species slowly repopulate. They have hatchlings, and more eggs in the rookery. Spring is returning for their kind. As legacies go, this one isn't bad at all.

He takes Alexander's hand. His son smiles, but David reads the pain there too. Alexander never could lie effectively. It makes him a lousy businessman and an excellent king.

"Promise me," David says.

"No promises, Dad. Not now, not yet."

"There may not be time later."

"There will be."

"You can't see into the future. Not one of your powers." Nor is healing.

"Dad ... "

"Promise me you'll be happy. Promise me you'll marry her."

Alex blushes. "I didn't think you knew."

"Everyone knows." Alexander and Lily have been discreet and quiet and are very much in love. Alex is bright with joy when she is in his vision, and darkened like a star when she isn't.

"That figures."

"Promise."

"I've already asked her."

"Good."

There is silence for a long time, and David notices his son steal glances to make sure David is breathing. He remembers walking into the nursery over and over when Alex was a baby, checking the same thing.

The world is circling in, and this is the way it ends. This is death: when the son waits for the father to go away.

David coughs, and he can't stop for a long time. Alex holds onto him as the spasms move through his body.

"Will you please go get Goliath?" David asks when he can breathe.

Alex nods, and there are tears he's trying not to show but David has watched him since the day he was born and he knows better.

The room is darker now, with his fairy-child gone, but it is David's again and there is something to be said for a room entirely in the mortal world. Too much of his life has been ruled by magic and magical beings. This room is stone and it is entirely human, even when his half-fairy love shares his bed.

He starts coughing again and there is no one there to hold him, and he cannot breathe at all ...

Her hand is soft against him, touching him and steadying him. The room is still dark, but it lights around her. "Fox ... "

Her lips press against his as the coughs abate, and she brings all of Avalon's warmth with her. A thousand nights replay through his mind at once: their bodies locked in passion, their hands entwined during nighttime strolls, her face covered in sweat as Alex was first set into her arms.

"I didn't know if you would be back in time," he says against his pillows.

She brushes his cheek with her fingertips, and her eyes are heavy with tears. "How could I not?"

Now the room is bright as though it is filled with hundreds of diamonds, and David's soul stirs. Could he rise, he would stand and he would bow and maybe he would even kneel, but he is weak and he is dying and the Winter King instead comes to his beside and places his cool palm to David's burning forehead.

Warmth. Love. A cessation of pain. The face above his is beatific and beautiful and David is weeping with joy. Fox kisses him on the cheek, her hot tears mixing with his. They are outside of time and even the second Fairy King cannot enter this holy space.

This is death: David's soul in three equal pieces, two within this sacred circle and the third without, and he is laughing because he gets the joke now. Fox chuckles through her tears and he knows she does not understand why. Her thoughts are bare to him and filled with love of him and she will be young and beautiful for a century and she will love him all the days of her enchanted life.

The Winter King's eyes are aflame and have no tears. He is also laughing, but then the Puck has always had an excellent sense of humor.

The pain is gone and David is unafraid. This is death. This is death. This is ...


End file.
